A Tale Of Perhaps
by Alice the Strange
Summary: "There's always stuff left there, inside your head. You can spend your life trying to empty it, but there are still bits that get stuck, that you can't scrape off. It's just part of the human condition, that – having bits of yourself that rot and go sour in the dark." An exploration of Merlin's growing ruthlessness, featuring Mordred, Arthur and the Dochraid. Hints of Dark!Merlin.


_~ a tale of perhaps ~_

* * *

He's thought of it before. Not often, though. Once, twice. Perhaps more than that.

It would be so easy.

* * *

"You've changed, you know," Mordred said.

Merlin's head snapped round so fast that he almost heard it crack. He'd been sitting on the floor in Arthur's room for the past half an hour, cleaning boot after boot, the work so numbing it had lulled him into a kind of daze. Is that why he didn't remember the door opening? Feeling irrationally annoyed at himself for flinching, he nodded at the other man – a gesture of politeness rather than invitation, cool and ambiguous.

"Sorry if I startled you," Mordred added quietly, stepping further into the room.

"I didn't hear you come in." Merlin dipped his head and returned to cleaning the boot, scrubbing without really looking at it. His hands were stained with black grime from the polish. "What do you mean, I've changed?"

"From when I first met you. You were different then. What happened to you?"

Merlin shrugged. "Nothing. That was a long time ago. Years. People change, that's just what happens."

Mordred sat down next to him, knees bent in an upturned V. "Do you need any help with that?"

"I'm fine. Thanks, though."

There was silence between the two of them, then. From outside the arched windows, a frosty winter sunlight poured in, drenching the floor. The sounds of trademakers, vendors and passers-by drifted up from the street below, their words muffled. It wasn't uncomfortable. Just quiet.

Mordred broke the stillness, cautiously. "I know people change," he said. "I changed, didn't I?"

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "I suppose you did."

"But not like you." Mordred tilted his head, watching him with curiosity. "You're…I don't know. Stranger than before. Colder."

"Don't start acting like I'm about to go on the rampage and kill everybody in Camelot," Merlin said, forcing a smile. "Honestly. I've always been loyal to Arthur, and I always will be. That won't change, just because I've grown up a little."

Another pause. Then, after a moment, Mordred blurted out, "Everything I've heard about you – everything I've read – " His hands clenched, twisting together. "You were supposed to be _kind."_

That stung.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Merlin snapped. "But you know, I'm not a story, Mordred. I'm not a legend. I'm human, all right?"

"I know _that,"_ Mordred said quickly, as if dismissing his words out of hand. "But remember when I first came here? You saved my life. Got me out of the castle and helped me escape. You didn't care what Arthur thought then, didn't care about the greater good, didn't care about _consequences._ You did what your heart told you to do."

"That doesn't count. I was reckless. Stupid."

"No," said Mordred. "You were kind."

A chill down his spine. Perhaps once. Perhaps then. But not any longer. He grew up, grew stronger, grew harder, until he could stand up to the blows, and had no need to waste kindness on those who did not need it. Kind? Not any longer. Cold, now. Damaged. Twisted. _Stained._

"I'm still the same person," Merlin argued. "You know. Clumsy, forgetful, lazy, all the rest of it!"

"Perhaps," Mordred said, but he didn't look convinced.

Merlin stared at him, and thought of a knife, a vial of poison, a crossbow. He thought of death and bloodstains and empty icy blue eyes with nothing behind them, not any more. They could have belonged to Arthur, or to Mordred, or to Merlin himself. There was no way of telling any longer.

* * *

_(I know I changed. We both did. That doesn't have to be a bad thing. Does it?_

_Sometimes it feels like there's a hundred people screaming in my head all at once and I can't make them stop. I know who they are. All of them. They died because of me._

_Arthur, there's this darkness inside me and I can't…help me, Arthur.)_

* * *

The next time was out amidst the wilderness, after Merlin had sent the dragon away from them into the sky in a blaze of white flame and scales and a cry that seemed to rent the air in two. For just one moment, he faced Mordred and felt himself beginning to smile. They were safe now, at least for the foreseeable future. Once they'd returned to Arthur over there behind that rock, all they needed to do was –

He felt the now-familiar tug as his feet left the ground, and the rocks came up to meet him. He hit them hard enough to knock the breath from his body, and for a moment he lay winded, lungs struggling to suck in air. Beside him, Mordred was still, eyes closed.

For a moment, Merlin hesitated. He could lift him, drag him back to where Arthur was hiding with the unconscious Gwen. Mordred would wake up presently and they could carry on together, the same as before. Or he could leave him. Leave him here, injured and unconscious and at the mercy of Morgana. Assuming she had any of that left, of course.

Merlin stood.

The choice was made in a second. It was easy. It was always easy.

* * *

"I'm sorry I left you behind," Merlin said later. They were riding back to Camelot, Arthur and Gwen far ahead of them, and hopefully out of earshot. Every time he glanced over at Mordred, there was a hollow sense of disappointment. Was he disappointed at himself, for not taking the opportunity to save the other man? Or was he disappointed for an entirely different reason?

Merlin cut his thoughts off. He wouldn't go there. Not now.

"It's all right," Mordred said, and smiled.

"No, really. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have abandoned you, I should have done something, I – "

"Merlin, I understand." Mordred spurred the horse into a forward trot, aiming to catch up with the others. "Honestly. You did what you had to do."

Merlin just nodded. He'd been telling himself that a lot lately.

* * *

He could talk to someone, he supposed. They could reassure him. Gaius would reassure him. It was normal to feel this way: he had, after all, spent his whole life saving people, with little to no recognition for any of it. He'd watched people he loved die in front of his eyes, and more than once it had been his fault. It was natural for him to feel angry, bitter, jaded. _(Except that he isn't. If he was angry, things would be so much easier. Anything's better than this coldness, this apathy, this – )_

Perhaps he should tell someone.

But that was no good, was it? There was always stuff left in there, inside your head. You could spend your whole life trying to empty it, to get all the things out in the open, lay them out in the sunlight, in the fresh air. All the putrid things, the dead things, the rank and fearsome objects that needed to be seen and judged and made less frightening. You kept on pulling them out, forcing people to look and listen and shudder. But there were still the bits that got stuck, that you couldn't scrape off, like scraps of food that fell down the cracks in the floorboards. It was just part of the human condition, that – having bits of yourself that rotted and went sour in the dark.

Perhaps he should tell someone.

Perhaps.

* * *

"Emrys," the Dochraid greeted him.

Merlin squinted in the darkness, and made out a hunched form in the corner, bent into itself like a dead spider. She turned her head, and he saw the mesh of skin covering her eyes, dark holes visible behind it. He repressed a shudder.

"It has been a long time," she said. "I see you still have not revealed yourself."

Merlin's breath caught. "How – how do you know about that?"

"I know all things, Emrys." She sounded calm, even amused. "You play the part well."

Merlin felt his skin grow hot, muscles tensing, as if his skin was drawing tight over the bones underneath it. "What?" His voice was hoarse, even for an old man, and he coughed to clear his throat. "What part?"

"The great King Arthur's servant – dare I say friend, even?" Behind the whitish membrane of webbing, he knew her eyes were glittering. "The joker, the trickster, the faithful dog. Always so brave. So _selfless._ You fool them all, but you do not fool me. There is a darkness inside your heart."

The denial sprang to his lips, but when he opened his mouth, it did not emerge.

_She is the darkness to your light; the hatred to your love, _the Great Dragon had said. Merlin remembered that, heard the voice clear and sharp in his head, and thought – for the first time since he'd first heard it – how utterly ridiculous that was. Everyone had darkness inside them somewhere, just as everyone has light. It was just that some people had more of one than of the other. He wondered how much light was in Morgana. Not much, probably. Perhaps just a crack of it. The rest had been leeched out a long time ago.

In a way, he admired the way Morgana killed. Sleek and lethal, dispatching her prey with as much care as a cat would have for a bird or a mouse. He marvelled at the ease of it – the simplicity – and almost wished he could do as she did. To fight selfishly, without fear; to be free of guilt, of mercy. It would be so _easy._

Every time you take a life, it chips a little piece out of you.

Merlin wasn't sure how many pieces he had left.

"I have seen that darkness before," the Dochraid said. She was watching him, calculating. "But only in one other."

_She's not to be trusted_, Gaius had said, and Merlin knew it; she was trying to trick him, to manipulate him, to tug the strings and probe his weak points. He couldn't listen to anything she said. But somehow, he couldn't seem to argue either.

"I have only ever been loyal to Arthur," he managed, finally. Echoing his words to Mordred.

A smile teased her lips – at least, if it had been present upon any other creature, it would have been called a smile. "Perhaps."

It was tempting to dispose of her completely. A way of erasing the danger, of erasing all that she had said from his mind.

But in the end, he didn't. A part of him felt that it would only have proved her point. He merely wounded her instead, and tried to ignore the sense of satisfaction that stemmed from hearing her boiling blood hiss on the cold stone floor.

* * *

_(Mordred. Still and pale as death, skin burning, a furnace, lids purpled.)_

_("Magic has no place in Camelot. Never will.")_

_(Morgana. Choking, her body contorting, writhing, the look of betrayal fading in her eyes.)_

_(Arthur. The silver gleam of steel protruding from his ribcage at an odd angle. Eyes clouding. Dropping to his knees. One hand to his chest, fingers red.)_

"You all right there, Merlin?"

Arthur's voice was offhand, concern thinly veiled. Merlin jerked out of his daze and turned, flashing him a grin.

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Arthur tossed a linen shirt at him, and Merlin just managed to catch it, fingers fumbling. "Only…well, you haven't been yourself recently. That time of the month again, is it?"

"Something like that," Merlin said, evasively.

"Anyway, you'd better not be too under the weather." Arthur straightened up, cricking his neck. "I need you to prepare the horses. Make sure they're ready in the next half an hour. I'm going hunting with a few of the knights. Bring back some venison for tonight's feast."

"Mordred too?"

Arthur gave him a bit of a funny look. "Of course."

Taking care to keep his thoughts from reaching his eyes, Merlin nodded at him solemnly. "Your wish is my command, sire, as always."

This time, he wasn't quick enough. The towel hit him in the face.

"Less of the cheek, please," Arthur said, heading out into the hallway. Then as he reached the doorway, he halted, seemingly deliberating over something. "Merlin?" he said finally.

"Still here," Merlin agreed, peeling the towel off his face.

"You'd tell me if there was something really wrong, wouldn't you?"

The answer took less than a second to formulate. "'Course I would," Merlin told him. "You know me – I never miss a chance to burden other people with my multitude of problems."

"Right," Arthur said. He chewed on his lip, an uncharacteristically uncertain gesture. "Well. That's good, then."

"Mm."

Merlin thought of the knife, gleaming sleek and fish-silver, and he pushed the thought back inside himself and let it fester, deep down there in the dark.


End file.
